Another time, another war
by Glossina
Summary: Lebeau reads his father's diary and learns that some friendships were just meant to be.


Francois Lebeau's diary was written in french but because I don't speak or write french I did it in english and the readers will just have to use their imagination.

Also, the battle of Somme was an actual battle durring WW1 but I don't know any details other than the year, which was in 1916. Please excuse any liberties I have taken.

I don't own any of Hogan's heroes but I do own Francois Lebeau and Richard Newkirk.

Hogan sat in his room and sighed heavily. "They're at it again", he muttered to himself.

In the next room, Newkirk and Lebeau were arguing loudly over a poker game and it sounded as though it was about to get physical.

Hogan rose to his feet, setting aside his book and he went out into the common room. "Is there a problem, gentlemen?" he asked frostily.

"He's cheating, colonel", Lebeau cried, pointing at Newkirk.

"You little twister", Newkirk snarled as he lunged at the smaller man.

"You take that back", Lebeau shouted as he rushed at the englishman.

"STOP IT!" Hogan roared. "Just stop it", he finished quietly when he was sure he had their attention. He glared back and forth between them and then gestured to Carter. "Newkirk, why don't you go down into the tunnels and help Carter put together those explosives packs?"

"Gosh, colonel... I've already got everything put toge...", Carter's voice trailed off and he nodded in understanding. He gestured to Newkirk then and climbed down into the tunnels. After a moment's hesitation, Newkirk silently followed him.

"And you...", Hogan continued as he turned to face Lebeau.

Lebeau's chin jutted out stubornly and he frowned up at Hogan.

"Let's go take a walk", Kinch said, cutting in suddenly as he grabbed Lebeau by the back of his red sweater and drug him out the door.

Even in his anger, Hogan chuckled softly at the outraged squawk that came from the little frenchman as he was drug out the door.

Lebeau squirmed and jerked, trying to make Kinch release him. "Let me go", he flared. "I didn't do anything. It was all Newkirk's fault".

"You settle down", Kinch ordered firmly. "I'm not letting you go untill I know you're calm".

Lebeau jerked a couple more times and then sagged in resignation. "Fine", he muttered unhappily. "I'm calm now".

Kinch eyed him closely and then pulled him over to a bench and sat him down.

"Now", Kinch said sternly. "What's going on between you and Newkirk?"

Lebeau looked at his lap and fumbled his hands through his scarf. "It, it's just that Pierre is so... He's so... He's so english", he shot out frustratedly.

Kinch snorted with amusement.

"It's not funny", Lebeau cried. "He makes me crazy and he cheats at cards and lies to people and...he steals too".

"Now you hold on just a minute", Kinch ordered. "Some of what you just said were things that he was ordered to do by the colonel".

"That is true", Lebeau agreed reluctantly. ''But he was not ordered to drive me crazy. He was not ordered to make fun of me or pick on me about my cooking or the fact that I am a little bit shorter than the rest of you or any of the other things he goes on about".

Again, Kinch snorted with laughter. "Just a little bit, huh?" But then he grew serious and sat down beside the frenchman. "Louis? What is it about Newkirk that's had you so mad lately? I know you two had problems when you first met but you're close now".

"It's just... He's mean and sarcastic sometimes and it's also the fact that he's... he's english, Kinch", Lebeau muttered unhappily.

Kinch frowned. "I hope you're not serious about what you just said".

Lebeau frowned back. "Why?"

Kinch sighed and rested a hand on Lebeau's wrist. "Louis, people judge me all the time because I'm colored and that's a terrible reason to judge a person. I'd hate to think that you would be the type of person to judge someone for a reason like that".

Lebeau's faced colored slightly and he shook his head. "Non, Kinch. I wouldn't normally but the french and the english... they have a history and well...".

Kinch smiled slightly and nodded. "I know that, Louis", he murmured. "But you two are too close to be treating each other like that".

Lebeau listened quietly and nodded somberly. "I will try, Kinch. I'm sorry things went the way they did".

Kinch smiled and patted his shoulder. "Let's get back to the barracks. I think I saw Schultz go by a couple of minutes ago with the mail and it looked like he had packages with him".

The men were sitting around the table as Schultz handed out the mail. Carter recieved a package from his mother and a letter from his cousin. Newkirk got a letter from his sister and Hogan got one from his father and another from his brother. Kinch got a package from his mother and Lebeau got a package from his cousin and a letter from his sister.

He opened the package and began going through the contents. The first things he pulled out were a couple of pairs of warm socks and a pair of gloves. There was also a tin of cookies and some writing paper. All of that was good but it was what was underneath the writing paper that really caught his attention. There was a leather bound book at the bottom of the box. It was old and worn looking. Lebeau set the tin of cookies aside to share with the other men and then he put the rest of the things away except for the book. That, he took up on his bunk, along with three of the cookies and he opened it up.

"Sacre Chat", he whispered to himself when he saw the name that was written on the inside of the cover. The name was Francois Lebeau. The book was a diary and it had belonged to his father. He settled himself comfortably and began to read. He knew his father had fought in World War One but he had never really talked about his experiences. All that he had told Lebeau was that he was involved in the battle of Somme. That had been in 1916 when Lebeau was thirteen years old.

January 21 1916.

I miss my home and my family. I can't believe that I had to leave them. Louis is only 13 and he's not old enough to be the man of the house should something happen to me. I think of Yvette and miss her so much. I miss the feel of her in my arms. I miss little Marie and I miss Claude as well. My children will all grow up without me if this war doesn't end soon.

February 1st 1916.

The battle is so near. My good friend Pierre was shot and killed the other day. I can't believe he is gone. I miss my family.

February 4th. 1916.

The unbelievable has happened. I have been seperated from my unit. There was a lot of confusion and fighting. People were running and yelling and shooting. I was knocked to the ground and then trampled under foot. I was knocked unconcious and when I came to, I was laying in the mud and there was nobody else around. Well, nobody living that is. There were bodies all around me. The germans must have thought I was just one of the bodies and left me there. That is a good joke on them but I am now on my own.

February 7th 1916.

I have heard that 7 is a lucky number and that must be so. Today my luck changed for the better. I was picked up by a unit of British soldiers. They seem okay for now but I miss my friends.

February 10th. 1916.

I am still with the British unit. Most of them just ignore me, though the commander is always very polite to me and he always asks how I am. A few of the men aren't very nice at all and push me around a bit but the commander always puts a stop to it so it's not so bad.

February 14th 1916.

It has been wet and very cold lately and it has been snowing off and on for the last three hours. We have been fighting our way to the Somme river. I think I have finally made a friend here. I was so cold and wet and I was shivering. I looked at the other men and they were all sitting huddled together for warmth but whenever I tried to join them, they would give me a look as though to say "What are you doing here?" It makes me feel a little lonely and sad but mostly I feel cold. As I was standing there though, suddenly there was a cup of hot tea pushed into my hands. I looked up and there was an englishman standing over me. He was a lot taller than me and he had green eyes that twinkled when he looked at me. "You look cold there, mate", he said to me and I just nodded. "You just 'old on to that cup for a while and warm your 'ands", he said to me. I must confess that I found his speech a little hard to understand but at least he was smiling at me.

February 15 1916.

I have noticed that my new friend is sticking rather close to me and is making sure that the other men don't pick on me. He doesn't actually say that he's looking out for me but I notice that he is always around me and always making sure I have a cup of tea and something to eat. I have to laugh a little to myself. Oui, he is taking care of me. I really should ask him his name.

February 18th 1916.

Things are going a little better for me now but I am still a little leary of these englishmen. They are an odd people, very different from my own kind.

February 19th 1916.

Something happened tonight and now I trust this man more than even my own country men. I was standing there so cold. It was starting to snow a little and I do not have enough weight on me to generate much body heat. I was shivering and watching the other men when I was handed my usual cup of tea. I cupped it in my hands, trying to soak up what heat I could when all of a sudden, I felt an arm go around me and I was drawn up against my new friend's side. I looked up at him and he just smiled at me and then looked over at the group of men that sat huddled together a short distance away. I wondered if he wouldn't rather be there with his countrymen instead of out here on the fringes with me but he seemed to know what I was thinking and shook his head and then tightened his arm around me a little more. He's is my friend now. No. He is more like a brother and his name is Richard Newkirk but he told me to call him Dicky.

There was more but Lebeau was having a hard time reading it, as the words had suddenly become very blurry. He blinked rapidly and then glanced over his shoulder and then back and then he quickly swiped his sleeve across his eyes. Could it be? he wondered as he shot a quick glance in Newkirk's dirrection.

Newkirk looked up towards Lebeau's top bunk and frowned slightly. "What?" he asked sharply.

"Pierre? What was your father's name?" Lebeau asked cautiously.

"Richard. But 'is family called him Dicky. why?" Newkirk asked stiffly.

Lebeau climbed from his bunk, the book still clutched in one hand. He approached Newkirk a bit shyly and then pushed the tin of cookies that his cousin had sent him towards Newkirk. "You would like some?" he asked hesitantly. They had been at each other's throats all week and he was a little afraid that Newkirk would turn down his offer.

Newkirk's eyebrows rose in surprise and a greatful smile crossed his face. "Thanks, little mate", he murmured softly. He looked at the book in Lebeau's hand then and nodded towards it. "What's that?" he asked.

Lebeau smiled softly and sat next to Newkirk. "It is a story, mon ami. It is a story of another time and another war. It is the story of two friends". He hesitated for a second and then put it on the table. "You would like to read it with me?"

Newkirk scooted closer and both men were soon bent over the diary and Lebeau was translating the french into english.

Afternoon turned into night and a fresh bond was formed by the sons of two best friends.


End file.
